So it's a Sunday afternoon. Playing football in the garden with my lad. Weather's not too bad so I say why don't we walk to the park. He's so excited, we take a little fishing net. He wants to catch a fish in the stream. So off we go. And we get to the stream. But we keep going. A little further, a little further. It's a nice day. Until we're so far from home that it seems like a long way to walk all the way back.
So I say to him "I've got a great idea. Why don't we cross over the river and go to the pub. Then mum can pick us up in the car!". And because I'm his dad and I can do no wrong he says "Yay sounds great!". Like, I actually put it to him like that so it would be like it was his suggestion to go to the pub. He's three.
But by the time we get there he's not so keen any more. "Daddy, I prefer parks to pubs". He really says that. But nah I say forget about the park we'll have a great time. I we go.
I get him a fruit shoot and crisps, and I have a pint. I get three bar mats and scratch an X on one, and show that game where you mix them around and he has to guess which one has the X. See? He's having a great time! I'll get him some more crisps, and another pint. I show him how to put bar mats on the edge of the table and flip them. I'm such a great dad, playing with him properly and not just showing him youtube videos on my phone.
Then the missus comes to pick us up. Well you may as well have one while you're here. Oh and I'll have a pint of Schneider Weiss while you're up there. What a great afternoon.
Then we get home and it's a bit later. We're having dinner but we get into an argument. She's criticising me. You know I work five days a week, and then I'm still putting in a shift looking after him? So what if it was the fucking pub. You know everyrhing in this room, I pay for all that. I had to go down to London last week for work? I'm tired, and I'm putting in so much effort and, and, and.
I go too far. She chokes up like she's about to cry. Then she runs off upstairs. I can hear her crying, she never cries. My son looks at me, then goes off upstairs after her. I don't. I get my coat. Fuck all this.
I walk to the pub. A different pub, a shitty cheap one. Plonk myself at the bar. Pint, pint, pint, pint. Four, at least. Five? I dunno. It's Sunday and they close pretty early. I walk home, no texts or calls at least.
I get in, all the lights are off. Make some dry toast and fill a pint glass with water. Working tomorrow but no problem, I'll just sober up a bit. But theres an open bottle of wine on the kitchen counter. Fuck it, big glass of red.
The next day I feel like shit. The computer monitor is bright like looking at the sun. I realise I can't do this any more.